Silver Spoons and the Many Uses of a Steak Knife
by Sophie3
Summary: "This really isn't as bad as it looks." Which of course meant this was all about to really blow up in their faces. (Problem solving, Batfamily style.)


"This really isn't as bad as it looks," Adam McNeil assured him. The other young man was already smoking his third cigarette, kept trying to rake his artfully foppish hair away from his sweaty brow, and had the look Dick was all too familiar with. Dick had seen it time and again, both in his day job and during his extracurricular activities. It was a particular mix of eyes forced wide open, quick shallow breaths, and a stubbornly clenched jaw.

Adam knew damn well this was what it looked like, but he was a man backed into a corner somehow and it wasn't looking good.

Dick sighed. He'd never claim that Adam was a close friend. People like Dick didn't really do close friends. They did family and teammates and that was about it. But Dick Wayne had known Adam McNeil since their high school days. They ran in the same circles and sometimes it was like being at a never ending summer camp with all the parties and galas and limited circles of friends. You learned to get along or else you spent all your time being at odds with one another.

And Adam did have his redeeming qualities. He liked to talk but he also like to get other people to talk and could generally be counted on to keep a steady stream of engaging conversation going. Sure, his latest outings might get mentioned one or two or ten times, but he also knew how to ask after your own interests and at least pretend to be listening. He had good manners. Always tipped generously and managed to show some genuine interest in the charities his family worked with, even if his interest was more like an armchair sociologist pondering what life must be like for those others in the wild than a personal connection.

There were worst things Adam McNeil could be and that was probably why Dick Wayne hadn't thought much of it when the other man asked to meet for drinks. There were both in the same town, after all, and it only made since for Adam to offer to show Dick around.

"How deep are you in?" Dick replied, no bothering to beat around the bush. If he was reading the situation correctly, they weren't going to have enough time for playing coy. And one advantage to being a police officer by occupation was that Dick did not have to pretend to be nearly as flaky as Brucie.

Adam laughed like a bad sitcom reel. "What? Everything's fine."

Which of course meant this was all about to really blow up in their faces.

"I need you to do what I say," Dick told him urgently. "When I tell you, okay? Do not let us get separated." Because Dick had two knives on him, a phone, a communicator, a set of lock-picks, and one canister of sleep gas disguised as lip balm. All of it was items he could pass off as either something else, or the result of being a paranoid rich kid who'd been kidnapped one too many times in the past. Under normal circumstances, it was usually more than enough to let Dick get himself out of any sticky situation without drawing too much attention to himself.

It wasn't going to be enough.

There wasn't a knock on the hotel door, just the quiet click of a key card before five men trooped in. Dick had a moment to debate the advantages of throwing one of the dining table chairs at them before dismissing it as too little too late. Dick might be capable of making it to the ridiculously large bathroom and out it's equally grandiose window and across to the next room, but there was no way Adam was even going to keep up, much less make the harrowing walk across the decorative ledge that ran around the top of the hotel.

So Dick stayed in his seat. Kept his hands visible. But other than that gave no sign of distress. But he also didn't bother to pretend not to understand what was going on here.

Adam was doing enough of that for the both of them. "Pete!" Adam greeted loudly. "So good to see you again. And you brought friends," That last part was a bit more wobbly. Adam had stood up almost before the door had opened. He'd been compulsively checking his phone all night, but that hadn't been unusual. It took on new meanings now. Adam still had his glass in one hand, and he moved in front of the table as if welcoming their guests to that evening's after-party. It was a toss-up whether he was subconsciously putting himself between Dick and these people or if he thought getting out in front would make him look more in control. Neither was going to be successful.

"I see you brought your friend," 'Pete' replied. His accent, or the lack there of, was the kind of careful middle class educated tone Dick was used to hearing out of new lawyers and junior partners. Fresh blood, careful, but hungry. It was meant to play along with the illusion that they were all on friendly terms here, but the veneer was intentionally thin enough that only someone truly vapid would have fallen for it.

Adam was not that stupid but he was apparently dumb enough to fall in with these people.

"We've got beer in the fridge," Adam tried. "Might as well have a drink, yeah? There's no rush, right?"

"Sure," Pete agreed easily. He stared at Adam until he moved out of the way before taking his seat at the table. "Why don't you get one for me and my new friend, yes?" he ordered. The rest of his friends had made themselves comfortable around the room. One by the bedroom door, another behind Dick, and two by the only exit.

Adam hesitated before going to do what he was told. Dick didn't like having him out of sight, but no one messed with him as he got into the suite's half fridge and came back with two craft beers. He set them in the middle of the table, not quite up to personally serving them both, before hovering at the end of the table. He didn't look comfortable sitting down and no one suggested he should.

Pete smiled easily, reached over to open both bottles before leaning back with his own. He shifted as if to get comfortable before casually but pointedly pulling his sidearm out and setting in front of him, pointed at Dick.

"I suspect you know how these things go," Pete said, sounding both pleased with himself and a bit ticked off. Dick wasn't sure if that was because of some weird form of jealousy that Dick had enough/was enough that he _did_ have to worry about this sort of thing or if it was some deeply buried common sense nagging him that these things rarely worked out well for the person on the other side of the Wayne family.

Dick nodded.

"It's really not that bad," Adam assured everyone.

Pete's expression didn't change. "No, not that bad."

"Everything's already planned out," Adam continued. "It'll just be a couple of hours, and then we can laugh about it later, right? A good story."

There was a possibility that was true. Kidnappings were usually just about the money. Adam obviously owed a great deal to someone, but he also seemed to think they were all going to walk away from this with nothing more than a little inconvenience and Daddy Wayne's pocket book a little lighter. It was frustrating that Adam hadn't thought to come to Dick before this point, but then again, they really weren't that good of friends, were they? After all, Adam had fallen in with this crowd somehow and Dick hadn't even noticed anything was wrong.

And while these weren't professionals, it wasn't exactly amateur hour either. Pete was clearly not this man's name and Dick had a feeling that a standard background check wasn't going to find any point of reference between Adam McNeil and whoever this was. But Dick had also gotten a good long look at this man's face, the kind of man he was, and Dick had a feeling things weren't going to end well no matter what. Maybe everyone would walk away alive, but the endgame here was not going to be a pretty one. Pete had already decided on that, Dick was certain of it. When you spent as much time around criminals as Dick did, you got real good at taking one look at them and knowing when it was about money and when it was about pain.

"Might as well enjoy your beer," Pete told him. "Then we probably ought to head out, don't you think?"

And here's where things got complicated. Dick had a few choices and only a moment to pick which one was less likely to get one or both of them killed or maimed. Rule number one was never go anywhere. Dead men left with their assailants. But Dick wasn't easy prey and he had dangerous options to choose from.

The safe one was doing everything he could to keep them here. Drink the damn beer. Talk. Stall. Claim someone was coming to see them. Someone who'd call the cops at the first sign of trouble. Try bargaining if he had to. If this was more professional than it looked, a counteroffer might just work. Adam didn't have the chops for that kind of thing, but Dick might be able to convince them he was a big enough fish to do business with. It was the smart move. The move Dick Wayne should make.

Nightwing however had the option of fighting back. The bottle would make a good projectile. The table was between Dick and the largest threat. The man behind him was close enough Dick could get a hand on him before the man managed to retaliate. That would both provide a human shield and take out one of the threats. He had one good throwing knife for long distance. A folding, more inconspicuous, knife he could use for close up. The Senatorial Suite was spacious but it was still a hotel room. There wasn't much space for back-flipping his way through the problem, but Dick suspected the sheer unpredictability of it would give him somewhat of an edge.

It was tempting. Logical in many ways. Dick had a decent cover story to explain how he could fight off a group of armed men. It wasn't ideal, but it was the option most likely to keep him alive.

It was also the option most likely to get Adam shot in the face.

Option number 3 was a bastard mix of the two and the one most likely to go wrong somehow. Dick had been carefully blank, skating the edge of borderline passive-aggressive with his captors so far, but he could fake capitulation well enough. The gun was a decent threat, and Dick was smart enough to guess the others were equally well armed. Bargaining would be expected. If he heavily implied actually trusting Adam, it might be enough to explain him hesitating but finally agreeing to trying to see this through. It would take some careful footwork to balance the right combination of compliant and frightened, but Dick was a showman. The only wild card was what happened the moment they stepped out of that door. Dick needed Pete to decide it was convenient enough to accept the illusion that they were all working together. Because if Pete didn't, if Pete was smart enough to know that moving his captive was going to be the most risky part of his plan, then there was the very real possibility Dick and Adam could end up even more cornered. Dick could lose his one chance to get them out of this in one piece.

It was risky. It was super risky. But the payoff was keeping his secrets to himself and possibly getting Adam out of this alive. The risk was it significantly increased the possibility that they would both end up dead. The problem was, any one option ruled out the possibility of the others. He could either bargain, fight or cooperate. Each one committed him to a certain script, one he would have to see through.

What would Bruce do? Dick thought, inappropriately reminded of Jesus bracelets with a similar message and what did it say about Dick's life that he was this calm about this.

Option two was the easy selfish way out. Option three was tempting – so very temping – but ultimately too risky and Dick was trying to be the more reasonable one of his family these days. He wasn't _just_ Nightwing, and that meant having to play by other people's rules some times. Option one it was.

Dick shifted his body language, relaxed his muscles, and reached for the beer. He gave a little toast that he hoped didn't look mocking and settled himself in to play the long game. Dick was a Bat, a Wayne and a performer. He had all the skill sets needed to take back control of this situation.

Then the door slammed open.

There was no tell-tale click of the door being unlock to warn the room and Dick had a moment of identifying who was the more competent threat in the room based on who reached for their gun first, who moved to a defensive position first, or who simply gaped like a fish.

And then Dick's baby brother came pushing his way carelessly passed the two goons at the door. He wasn't even in his gear, just an oversized red sweatshirt and the trousers he only wore to school. Dick had no doubt there were at least three blades tucked away somewhere on his person (Damian did not believe in subtlety or restraint) but that wasn't going to protect the soft fleshy bits of him if this turned into a fight.

Damian gave no indication he even noticed the arm men strung out around the room. He had his hands on his hip and was glaring at Dick. "Grayson! Stop screwing around. I have need of you!" which was about how his darling little brother asked for anything from passing the salt to taking on the mob. Dick wasn't sure where this one fell in that spectrum.

Pete also seemed not to know what to make of this development, a first since Pete had walked into the room. Damian only came up to about a grown man's shoulder, and when he scowled like that from behind messy bangs, he certainly didn't look like the well-mannered boy in society pages.

"What the hell?" Dick's new friend Pete muttered. Dick could sympathize. Damian had that effect on people. Pete shook his head. "McNeil, do something with him, would you?" he ordered as he casually swiped up the gun on the table and moved it down out of sight into his lap. A good sign that he wasn't planning on threatening Damian but it increased Dick's chances of getting shot (and in the gut) if this went pear shaped.

There was one agonizing moment while Dick glanced over at Adam and Adam stared a bit shell shocked at the small tornado that had just invaded their clever mess. Adam McNeil had been to Wayne Manor three times in the last year for various events. There'd been a joint yachting expedition before that. He knew damn well what Damian Wayne looked like.

Two hostages was likely better than one and would probably bring in enough money and good will to really get Adam out of whatever mess he had crawled into.

"You're not supposed to be here!" Adam yelped, voice too high to be natural. And for a moment Dick resigned himself to having to fight his way out of this one here and now. It was one thing not wanting to risk getting Adam killed in the crossfire, it was another thing to add his kid brother into the mix. Even if Damian was Robin and highly trained. It wasn't worth it.

But then Adam was actually _shooing_ at Damian. Both hands held out and gesturing towards the door. "Kid, your parents _are next door_. You can't pester us like this. We'll play cards with you another time, jeez. Ha, ha, ha, you say hi to a kid once and he thinks you're best friends. Bye now, okay?"

It was hardly a convincing piece of showmanship but Dick suddenly wanted to hug the stupid bastard. Unfortunately, it was doomed to fail.

"Wait," Pete demanded, shifting around to get a better look at what was happening at the door – the gun shifting with him to now point just to the right of Dick. "Who are his parents?" Because people like the Wayne's and the McNeil's didn't twiddle away the time with just anyone, now did they?

"Accountants!" Adam declared with the kind of conviction of a man who knew his ship was sinking but who was going down with it.

"Tch!" Damian declared with the kind of brashness of youth and social skills of a hermit crab. "Do not be ridiculous. My father's accountants have accountants. I demand we return home at once, Grayson."

Dick didn't do something as foolish as close his eyes, but he did breathe in deeply, trying to find that calm Bruce always carried with him. It was a uniquely disturbing phenomenon to find himself acutely identifying with his father. "You are not helping. Please stop not helping."

And finally, the penny dropped. "Wait, isn't that another one of the Wayne brats? The new one," the goon behind Dick helpfully supplied. He was getting an elbow to the groin the first chance Dick got.

Damian scowled and now it was personal. "_I _am the only authentic one," he corrected. "Though I can understand your reasoning for going after Grayson. Father is fond of him. But I have need of my brother's assistance, so I must insist you fuck off."

And all hell broke loose. One of the goons by the door tried to snag Damian by the hood and got a four inch blade through his palm for the effort. And just like that, everyone sprung into action.

The guy behind Dick did in fact get that well deserved elbow to the crotch. Dear Pete, meanwhile, suffered from that common conundrum up-and-coming crime lords often fell victim too. He miscalculated his ability to both give his minions orders and manage his own affairs. Dick flipped the heavy table up and between them, shoving the man back into the wall. It wasn't going to be enough to take him out of the equation, but it gave Dick room to work. He grabbed Adam by the back of his pants and pulled the man down and away from the action, shifting his own body in between him and the rest of the room. Dick might not have his usual armor on, but he was never defenseless.

So Dick improvised. The dining chairs were heavy and awkward to throw, but he got one up and over the table just in time to smash into Pete as he tried to scramble free of the table. He went back down with a crash. The guy who had earned himself some crushed nuts had finally found enough presence of mind to stop clutching his junk and pull his weapon free, but a swift kick to the head took care of those aspirations.

Dick followed through with the forward motion from that, put one foot on the edge of the overturned table and leaped up just high enough to slam knees first into Pete's head. It wasn't the most practical of moves, but it worked well in the limited space and wasn't as flash and easily recognized as a martial response. Dick could one hundred percent write it off as a fumbling but ultimately success attempt to subdue his attacker. It also let him get in one extra punch to the head to make sure dear Pete stay down.

Adam was screaming something in the background but it wasn't the pain filled kind of screaming of someone who'd been shot. Meanwhile, Dick's little brother was going to town on the three remaining assholes.

The entry way was the narrowest part of the room, and Damian was taking full advantage of that. He ducked under when needed and push up and off walls when that worked better. It let him get up and over or up close and personal within someone's guard. The narrow hallway also made it easy for Damian to bounce them head first off the walls. It was a bit like watching a live action pinball machine. Bang! one went into the wall on the right, only to stagger back and get slammed into the wall on the left, and then repeat, until it was only the force of Damian striking them that was keeping them up on their feet. He wasn't giving them enough time to hit the floor before delivering the next blow.

It was a thing of beauty. Probably a record in the family. And also hella excessive. "Simmer down, little D," Dick ordered. His voice was hard to hear over the frantic noises coming out of Adam, but Robin was trained better. He stopped as suddenly as if he actual was a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. The three men collapsed around him as Damian shoved his hands into his hoodie's pouch and waited patiently by the door as if he had been promised ice cream and was impatiently waiting for the adults in the room to hurry up and get ready to leave.

Dick really did love the little demon.

"Damian, is there a knife in that one guy's leg?"

Damian didn't look to check. "Kitchen knife. Must have been on the table. These things happen. Non-fatal," he helpfully reported, completely ruining the plausible deniability.

Dick swore and turned to find Adam. For all of his poor life choices, the other man wasn't an idiot. He'd found good cover on the far side of the kitchenette's peninsula. It meant he was boxed in, but it wasn't the worst option he could have gone with. Dick swung around to kneel by him, checking for bleeding and slipping into his role as Officer Grayson. "Hang on, we're okay. Just stay put, alright?"

"I am so sorry!" Adam wailed.

"Yeah, I figured."

"Is he sniveling?" Damian asked, leaning over the counter. No way were his feet on the floor and Dick had to swallow the totally inappropriate urge to chuckle.

"A bit," he answered truthfully.

"Good," Damian declared before Dick shooed him away before he traumatized the poor guy any more. Adam was still panicked and more than happy to stay down and out of the way while Dick and his brother handled things. Dick wasn't sure exactly how much the other man had seen, but he was willing to bet it wasn't much. It was hard to take note of anything else when you were too busy trying to run away. Dick got him to promise to stay put before he moved back to join his brother by the door.

"Security will be on their way," Dick pointed out, a practiced eye already checking the scene for any obvious tells.

"With the way the sniveling buffoon was yelling, I am not surprised," Damian muttered.

Dick shoot him a look. "And how are we explaining this?" he challenged. They had about 30-60 more seconds before the first of hotel security would arrive. A bit longer until the actual police were on the scene but not much. Not with a nice hotel like this one.

"Easy," Damian shrugged. "You, Officer Grayson, along with your childhood friend, took advantage of their distraction and driven by the adrenaline of the situation successfully fought back. Clearly, your assailants expected easier prey and underestimate two healthy young men. I watched."

"You _hid_ and watched," because that was what a sane child did and it sounded far less gleeful. "And when they start rambling about a hell-child trying to bash their heads in?"

Damian smiled slowly. "Would they? Even as pathetic as they are, I doubt they will be too eager to proclaim that they had their asses handed to them by a ten-year-old. Even if I _am_ impressive."

Dick wasn't supposed to find that adorable. He really wasn't. "Well, you were my hero," he sing-songed happily. He believed strongly in positive reinforcement. Someone in their family had to.

Damian huffed, but didn't move to put distance between them. "You could have handled it," he graciously allowed.

"Not without risking my cover," Dick explained to him. Because Damian understood these things in the abstract, but it still wasn't ingrained in him just how important that was. "And not without risking McNeil's life."

"Pathetic!"

Dick was going to choose to assume Damian meant his friend and not him. "How'd you even know I needed a hand?" Because the last time he checked, Damian was supposed to be at a summer art camp. It wasn't called that of course. The university hosting the youth program called it a preparatory course and had a very long name for why it was enriching students' lives and improving their social standing. Bruce had signed Damian up because he was desperate to find something fun for the kid to do that wasn't stabbing things. Two weeks of living in dorms and pretending to be normal would also be good for the kid. Dick was only supposed to be in town as nominal supervision in case something happened. He was supposed to be on hand to help out his little brother is something came up, not the other way around.

Damian huffed, chin up in a way that should have made any other kid look ridiculous but on Damian was far too close to a look their father would give and just as effective at putting people in their place. "Do not be ridiculous, Grayson. I added my own surveillance equipment to you person and locality."

Dick cursed. Extensively.

Apparently being a haughty little shit wasn't the only thing baby bird had inherited.


End file.
